Melting Metal
by be-zee
Summary: John is a healer with scars from his time as rebel. What happens when the brother of the opressive Prime Minister is admitted to the Healer Center with several stab wounds? Non-Victorian Steampunk AU. Johnlock.
1. Chapter I

Hey, there. I'm experimenting at a new universe, trying a Non-Victorian Steampunk, so I hope you like it. Any questions, please review. Thanks. (:

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own these characters. They are property of the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle. The OCs and universe are mine. I don't make any profit with this story.

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><p><em>Chapter I<em>

The cafeteria at the Healer Center is always loud. Families trying to distract themselves while waiting; helpers gossiping between coffee and biscuits; and the large monitor on the wall with the news. A smartly dressed man appears at the screen. He announces the new investments in healer centers. At a tiny table in the corner, Rose Foley rolls her eyes.

"I can't believe they are trying to fool us with that again, nothing changed last time", she talks quietly before taking a sip at her tea. She's dressed as a healer, covered with ill-fitting white overalls. Even though she feels ugly in them, her clothes makes her earn respect, very different from the way the female helpers, with their blue overalls, are treated. Her copper hair matches the machinery on the wall.

"Most people still believe them. Him." The other person at the table is John Watson, also dressed as a healer. He crumbles his biscuit, looking angry as if it has offended him personally. He raise his eyes to Rose's. "They censored my latest paper. Too controversial. How can child birth be controversial?"

Rose laughs. "Men have problems with vaginas that aren't for their pleasure. I bet it was the illustrations."

"Yeah." John stretch his back, his right hand going automatically to his left shoulder. He winces, massaging the spot. "This thing is bothering more than usual today."

"Maybe you're just grumpy." She smiles, melting his frown. "Seriously, thought, I can look at it later."

"Thanks." John gives her a little smile, rotating his left arm. His movements are stiff.

They fall into a comfortable silence. John eats his bits of biscuit while Rose finishes her tea.

"Do you miss it? Surgery, I mean." Rose corrects herself, avoiding awkwardness.

John puts his left hand over the table. Instead of flash and bones, there is metal and wood. He moves his wooden fingers, but the movement is clumsy.

"No one wants a one-armed surgeon." John shruggles and smiles. "I actually really like to write for the periodicals and the GP."

Rose opens her mouth to respond when she hears her name from the sound system: **Rose Foley. Healer Rose Foley. Your presence is required at Emergency.** "Damn, I got to go." She raises, looking apologetic.

"Don't worry, I'll walk with you." John eats the last of his biscuit as he raises. They exit the cafeteria in a fast pace. "I need to talk to Healer Michaelson, I believe he's in the Emergency today."

"Yes, he is. I saw him earlier."

The Emergency is more chaotic than normal. In a stretcher, rushing through the corridor, a young man is passed out and covered in blood.

"Multiple stab wounds. His BP is falling." Heloise, a tiny helper with strikingly blond hair, tells Rose as she approaches. Rose jumps into action. "Rose, he is Sherlock Holmes."

"The Prime Minister's brother?" Rose stills for a second, curses under her breath, but immediately starts shouting orders and rushes the patient to surgery.

John realizes he has no idea what he needed to talk with Michaelson.


	2. Chapter II

I know that the chapters are tiny, but I'm still getting used to writing in english (it's my second language). And I really need to find a beta.

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><p><em>Chapter II<em>

Rose is at her office, her head between her hands. The white overall is covered in dried blood, but she doesn't have the strength to change right that moment. There's light knocking at the door and Heloise put her head inside the room.

"Honey, are you okay?" Heloise closes the door behind her and sits at one of the chairs. Rose looks at her between her fingers.

"Amazing." Rose responds ironically, thread her fingers through her hair and sighs. "I think the Gods hate me. We're so close to the anniversary of their death."

Heloise puts her hand over her friend's and squeezes. They look at each other, sad smiles on her lips.

"Maybe the Gods gave you a chance to forgive."

Rose pulls a face and laughs. "As if a could not save the boy."

They stay silent for some moments. Heloise whisper: "And what if it was his brother?"

Rose gives her a knowing look, squeezing Heloise's hand harder.

"Let's go back to work. I need to change."

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><p>Sherlock is floating between sleep and pain. His chart says he can't have morphine or any other opioids. John observes him from the corner of the room, silently. The securities at the door let him in when he said he was helping Healer Foley, but now all he could do is watch the man suffer.<p>

"Are you like him?" John says under his breath, mostly to himself.

"No." A husky voice comes from the bed, startling John. Sherlock opens his eyes when John comes closer. "I'm glad you didn't let me die because of my brother."

John gasps, shaking his head. "I'd never…"

"Yes, yes, you're one of the righteous ones." Sherlock interrupts him and winces. Breathing hurts. His hair is plastered at his forehead; his skin, clammy. "Lucky me."

John stays silent, looking Sherlock's charts and checking the machines around him. There are clear vials filled with different colored medicaments running through a needle at the patient's arm. A wheezing sound can be heard every time oxygen is pumped to the tubes at Sherlock's nose. John reaches his wooden hand to a machine, the sound of the contact catching Sherlock's attention.

"Oh". He turns his head towards John. "So you're not my doctor. You couldn't save me with that thing." He looks at John's prosthetic. "Awfully made thing." John just waits as Sherlock's eyes deduce him. "Blast shot at you shoulder. Irreparable damage. Poorly extraction of your limb. You lost your arm at the rebellion."

John gasps and looks around. His face hardens.

"Do you want to get me killed? That will happen if don't keep your mouth shut. I have no idea how you got all of this, even though it was brilliant, but I really want to get home alive."

Sherlock looks curiously at him for some moments, until a new wave of pain makes him close his eyes and groan.

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><p><em>~8 years before~<em>

A younger John is groaning in pain at a kitchen counter of a tiny apartment. His left shoulder has a burned hole and his arm stays limp at his side. The clothes he's wearing are dirty and his boots caked with mud, the floor is a mess of blood dripping from his arm. Rose enters the kitchen, as filthy and young as he, carrying a metal tray. She fills a syringe with a dark blue liquid, kissing John's forehead.

"I'm so sorry, love." She whispers, looking right at his eyes. Rose sticks the golden needle in his neck, pushing the plunger. John's body trembles for some seconds, his pupils growing, until he passes out.

Rose takes a step back and get a deep breath. Over the metal tray is a bone saw.

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><p>John looks at the counter of his kitchen. Some blood stains never disappeared completely, even after all the scrubbing he made. He closes his eyes for some seconds, hardening his features as he opens them.<p>

"Bloody bastard." He mutters, deciding to make some tea.


End file.
